


my friends won't love me like you

by hanzios



Category: La casa de papel | Money Heist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, M/M, outcast nerd! palermo, theater kid! berlin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-08 03:35:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20297275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hanzios/pseuds/hanzios
Summary: Berlin and Palermo, but in high school.





	my friends won't love me like you

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to the berlermo gc for inspiring me to write this fic. also, thanks a bunch to yun for sending me those pics of baby pedro & rodri, and for brainstorming the hsau with me!!!

**i.**

Andres wasn’t dumb – not at all. In fact, he was at the top end of his school’s academic food chain. He didn’t study much, but he learned quickly. He often wondered how he ended up with a group of dim-witted friends, but they followed him around and praised him often enough, so it doesn’t really bother him much. Besides, Andres loved being the best person in the room. It made him feel important.

Andres wasn’t dumb, not at all, but one wouldn’t help but question his intelligence if they knew he was at the principal’s office at 2AM on a school night, picking the lock to a cabinet which contained the answer sheets to his Calculus final the next morning.

He’s dressed in dark jeans and a thick black hoodie, his head covered. The security cameras have all been disabled, and he had exactly three more minutes before they became functional again. Andres was getting antsy; picking locks was never his strong suit. Neither was Calculus.

In the middle of the silence, he heard a creak. Andres almost tumbled over as he slithered to the bottom of the principal’s desk to get out of the view of the opening door. He could hear footsteps coming to the side, matching the beat of his heart. Andres was all but ready to pounce at a security guard when he was suddenly blinded by a flash of white and,

“Andres?”

He’s heard that voice before, he was sure. But he didn’t know where or when.

“_Gah!_ Get that light off me!” Andres angrily whispered, covering his face with his hands.

Once again, the darkness washed away the intense light, and when Andres had finally adjusted his eyes to the scenery, he found a shadow crouching in front of him. From the dim room, he could only see a few of the boy's features, like the hair covering his forehead and the grin plastered on his face. Andres knew this boy.

“_Martin?”_

“What are you doing here?” the boy asked.

“What are _you_ doing here?” Martin, like Andres, was on top of the academic food chain. In the social one? Not so much. The guy was a genius in mathematics, the Vice President of the Robotics Club, and a member of the school’s academic triathlon team. However, he hung around the wrong people. Martin was often found at the bottom of the school bleachers with the stoners and basketcases, smelling like smoke and weed whenever he passed by. Other than that, Martin was handsome. Andres could admit that he was.

“I’m…” Martin drawled, before giving in, “… stealing the answer sheets for the Calculus exam tomorrow.” It was dark but Andres could imagine the reddening of the boy’s cheeks.

He raised a brow. “You? Stealing? For _Calculus?”_ Those words sounded ridiculous coming out of his mouth. “Aren’t you supposed to be a math wizard?”

Martin snorted. “I thought _you_ were smart too, but here we are.”

Andres would’ve retaliated if he hadn’t realized that they only had a minute left before the security cameras started working again, and they were fucked. When he voiced his concern, Martin only said ‘_puta mierda’_ under his breath before grabbing something from his pocket and opening the drawer with ease. Andres merely watched as he saw Martin’s gloved hands skimming through the files and taking pictures with the five pages of Calculus answer sheets.

“How long have you been doing that?” Andres asked, surprised.

“Cheating?” Martin said in between snaps. “I guess about a year now. You?”

“Longer. A _lot_ longer.”

When he snapped the last picture, the flash was so perfectly on time that Andres could see Martin grinning at him with a beautiful smile, his blue eyes much clearer in the light. Andres was frozen in place, too mesmerized to move, that he didn’t notice Martin putting the papers back on the drawer again.

“_Andres_. We gotta go.” Martin grabbed the dark-haired boy’s arm, and soon he was back in reality again. Andres nodded.

Martin was about to open the window when Andres grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Don’t be an amateur, _mi amigo_,” he teased, smirking. “We’re going up.” Andres pointed to the ceiling, where a pathway to the vents was already open.

The blue-eyed boy followed his gaze and raised a brow, and when he looked back at him, was already matching Andres’ sly smile. “Don’t call me an amateur when you can’t even pick locks, _querido_.”

Andres figured it was an unusual way of starting a friendship. He never would’ve thought he’d call Martin a _friend_ ever in his life. But the next day, when he saw the boy sitting on his own at the cafeteria with the leather jacket he was wearing from the previous night, Andres’ feet walked past his friends and gravitated towards Martin. And despite the curious looks that were so obviously thrown at them, Martin just grinned at him with that perfect grin of his, and the two began talking as if they’ve been best friends all their lives.

**ii.**

A week after the robbery, and five days after passing their Calculus exam with flying colors, Martin texted Andres:

** _Martin:_ ** _ we need nicknames_

** _Andres:_ ** _ what?_

** _Martin:_ ** _ nicknames. robbery nicknames. _

** _Martin:_ ** _ in case someone hears us._

** _Andres:_ ** _ you’re a nerd_

Andres had mastered the art of texting without looking at his phone, his fingers practicing muscle memory and are already familiar with the keyboard. He was listening to his teacher drone on and on about facts on Spanish history he already knew about, all the while doing something much more productive. Which was talking to Martin.

** _Martin:_ ** _ what do you think about numbers?_

** _Martin:_ ** _ i could be number one. you could be my number two_

** _Andres:_ ** _ why am i number two??_

** _Martin:_ ** _ because._

** _Martin:_ ** _ we could do countries. or cities. _

** _Andres: _ ** _you’re still a huge nerd, but i could do cities. _

** _Martin:_ ** _ cool! i’ll be palermo_

** _Andres:_ ** _ italy? why? _

** _Martin:_ ** _ it was the first place i’ve been to abroad. i was seven when we left buenos aires. _

** _Martin:_ ** _ my mom loved italy so we went to sicily. then france. and finally settled in madrid. _

Andres could imagine a pre-pubescent Martin holding his mother’s hand as they walked through the streets of Southern Italy. He could imagine his striking blue eyes widening in amazement as the gargantuan old churches towered over him. Maybe one day they could go to Italy, so Andres could see Martin’s awed eyes for himself.

** _Andres:_ ** _ ok. i’ll be berlin _

** _Martin:_ ** _ why?_

** _Andres:_ ** _ because. _

The school bell finally rang, and Andres was out of the classroom before their teacher could even dismiss them. He ignored his friends’ calls to him, their invitations to probably get drunk or do anything Andres wasn’t currently interested in. Instead, he walked out of the front doors and immediately spotted Martin’s messy brown hair at the bottom of the steps. Leather-clad, as he’d expected.

“You’re becoming a cliché, you know,” Andres softly slapped the back of the boy’s head. Martin immediately jumped, rubbing his head, a lollipop on his mouth.

“What the hell do you mean?”

“The jacket,” Andres pointed out, “the smoking, the stealing.” Martin kept on sucking on the candy, and suddenly Andres’ brain was hyper-fixating on the boy’s reddening lips. He forced himself to come out of it, opting to stare at Martin’s eyes instead. “But you can’t change who you really are.”

Martin raised an eyebrow, confused. “Which is?”

“A huge nerd.”

It was Martin’s turn to smack him on the back of the head, something the dark-haired boy merely laughed off. The two of them started walking out of the school and into the sidewalk, shoulders bumping together as if two planets orbiting around each other. Andres didn’t even know if Martin’s house was the way they were walking, all he knew was he never wanted the boy to go anywhere else.

“Where are we going, Berlin?” Martin asked.

Andres ignored the nickname. “We?”

“Yeah. We’re both walking in this direction, right? I assume you’re going home.”

He assumed right. “_Si_. But I’ll have to go through the pharmacy, though. To buy meds.”

Martin furrowed his brows. “Why?”

“It’s for my brother.” Andres looked at him and in a second realized the boy doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. “Are you going to follow me around the whole school year, _Palermo?”_

Martin shrugged, the lollipop still on his mouth. “I have nothing better to do, so maybe just today.”

Andres wouldn’t have minded, if he was being completely honest. Being around Martin felt light, as if he could truly be himself. He’s never really had friends that he cared about; he’s only ever loved Sergio, his padre, and a string of ex-girlfriends he thought were the love of his life. Andres’ past relationships were extremely complicated, but with Martin, loving seemed easier.

+

Having spent most of your days in and out of hospitals, one can grow restless. Especially when the moment you _are_ home, you’re still not allowed to leave your room. Meaning, Sergio has to get creative on ways to entertain himself. He’s already finished a National Geographic series on sharks, and is about to watch a conspiracy documentary when the door to his room opened.

Andres, his big brother, poked his head inside the room, and smiled at him before entering. “How are you feeling, _hermanito?”_

Sergio shrugged. “I still have a bit of a fever, but I’m fine, _gracias_.”

Andres didn’t shut the door when he walked to sit on Sergio’s bed. The older boy placed the back of his hand on Sergio’s temple, face all worried when he felt Sergio’s temperature.

“I bought you your medicine,” Andres started listing Sergio’s extensive list of drugs as he placed the bottles on Sergio’s full bedside table. The bespectacled boy’s eyes suddenly focused to the door, where a head of brown was becoming more visible.

“Andres? Who is he?”

Andres followed his pointed finger, and the stranger smiled sheepishly before entering.

“You must be Sergio!” he walked to the other side of the bed and plopped himself down. He shared a look with Andres before grinning at Sergio with high energy. “My name is Martin. Your brother’s friend.”

Sergio was confused. He looked at Andres. “You never bring your friends over.”

Andres and Martin shared a look once more. Andres smiled before saying, “He insisted on meeting you. And besides, he wouldn’t stop following me.”

Martin’s face fell. He smacked the smirking boy on the arm, and Andres just laughed it off. In all honesty, Sergio has never seen Andres like this with anyone before. Of course, he’s seen him with his short-term girlfriends, heard him gush about his love escapades through the night, but not _this_. Sergio couldn’t quite describe the difference in Andres’ character, but he knew something was off. In a good way.

Sergio had to ask, “Is Martin your boyfriend?”

Andres’ eyes widened comically, his cheeks reddening as his head snapped to look at Sergio. Meanwhile, Martin was just laughing a loud laugh, matching Andres’ tomato-esque color.

“Your brother is funny, Andres!”

“_Sergio_,” Andres sternly hissed. “You shouldn’t just say things like that. Martin is my _friend_.”

“Oh, don’t berate the kid, _cariño_,” Martin drawled, still smiling. “He doesn’t know any better.”

Many would assume that about Sergio since he’s twelve years old, but the fact is this: he _does_ know better. And what he knows now is that there is an unresolved tension between his brother and his friend, and if it doesn’t get resolved real quick, Sergio himself will have to suffer.

Another thing Sergio does to entertain himself while locked up in his bedroom is scheming. And he is adamant on pulling this new idea off.

**iii.**

Martin didn’t have any friends. He was on speaking terms with drug dealers and school losers, but that was only because nobody else ever paid him any mind. He had Helsinki, who’d already graduated and was someone he could tolerate (and even booty call sometimes). There was Nairobi, who wasn’t afraid to call him out on his bullshit and who preferred Helsinki over him. But other than them, Martin had no friends.

At least, that was until _Andres_.

Sometimes he found it odd how easily he and Andres got along. Martin has seen the dark-haired boy around the school on multiple occasions before, on the hallways and onstage, performing. Andres was talented, and Martin knew that because he’s seen every school show that he’s in.

After years of watching him from afar, Martin wondered what Andres would look like up close. The answer is this: he’s much prettier.

Martin currently had his aching head on top of Andres’ lap, the other boy stroking his hair and staring at him with a certain softness that drove Martin wild. He could smell his perfume from their distance; Andres always smelled expensive. 

“Aren’t you going to scold me? Tell me I shouldn’t pick fights?” Martin broke the silence.

Andres scoffed. “No, no. The asshole deserved it.”

Martin peered into Andres’ worried eyes. “But?”

“But… I don’t particularly like seeing you get hurt.”

The cut on Martin’s lower lip suddenly felt more exposed. He adjusted his jaw. “This? It’s nothing. Honestly, Andres, you should’ve let me go off at him.”

Andres traced his thumb through Martin’s temple, a calming sensation wafting over the blue-eyed boy. Andres said, “I’m sorry he said those things to you.”

It was Martin’s turn to scoff. “Faggot, sudaca, _hijo de puta_. I’ve heard them all before. I didn’t like him insulting _you_, though.” He shrugged. “That’s what got to me, I guess.”

Suddenly, Andres’ pocket vibrated. He picked up his phone and when he turned on the screen, smiled at it. Martin already knew who’d texted him before Andres could tell him. Martin only wished that smile was for him.

“I’m sorry, Martin, but I have to go.” Martin immediately bolted up from his position as Andres said those words. “Ariadna wants to have dinner tonight. Isn’t it sweet?”

Martin could only fake his smile. “Andres…”

He was still texting.

“_Andres_.”

He looked up. “What?”

Martin was feeling brave. “I don’t think Ariadna is good for you.”

Andres lowered his phone, raising his brow. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Martin sighed. “I have a bad feeling about her, Andres.” It wasn’t difficult to see the confusion and hurt on Andres’ face, but Martin couldn’t stop. “I think she’s just using you. She doesn’t love you.”

“Just because you haven’t been in love before doesn’t mean you could shit on _my_ love life.”

_Andres, you just don’t know_.

Martin sighed. “I’m not shitting on your love life,” he said. “I’m just worried, that’s all.”

“Well, then, worry somewhere else. Because I love Ariadna…” – that felt like a knife on Martin’s chest – “…and she loves me.” Andres stood up to descend the steps, but Martin couldn’t help himself.

“That’s what you said with your past four girlfriends.”

Andres stopped at the bottom of the stairs, and turned to look at him. “Funny how you comment on love when you aren’t even capable of it.”

Martin’s heart started to really sting. The cold look on Andres’ face was enough to hurt him, but those words sent him six feet below the ground. Instead of showing defeat, Martin just shrugged.

“Fine, then!” he almost yelled. “But know this: don’t come crawling back to me when she breaks your heart.”

Andres waved his hand as if swatting a fly in the air, turning away in frustration. “Fuck off to your stoner friends, will you,” he sneered to Martin. “You know you’re _nothing_ without me.”

Those were his final words before Andres turned on his heel and left Martin standing there, unable to move or form any thought. Suddenly, everything around him felt magnified. He could feel the cool breeze sliding against his exposed skin, and the setting sun over the horizon. And all at once, all those things closed in on him, and the only thing he could hear were Andres’ words, sharp and clear:

_You’re _nothing_ without me._

And the saddest part was, Andres was _right_.

**iv.**

It’s been two months since Sergio had met Martin, and ever since then, he’d gotten used to a routine. Instead of five o’clock, his brother came home at around seven, most of the time having had dinner already. Andres would be grinning from ear to ear, and when Sergio would ask where he was, he’d say something like “Martin and I _this”_ and “Martin and I _that.” _On Saturdays, Martin would come over, usually bringing fast food, and the three of them would watch crime films on Sergio’s room, the two bigger boys on both his sides.

Sergio had gotten so used to the idea of Andres and Martin together, that when Andres came home with a girl on his arm one evening, reality seemed a bit… off.

“Who’s she?” Sergio asked.

“Ariadna,” Andres said, smiling. “My girlfriend.”

Now Sergio was even _more_ confused. “Where’s Martin?”

Andres didn’t answer; he just grabbed his green-eyed girlfriend by the hand and dragged her to his room across the hall. When he heard his brother’s door slam shut, Sergio jumped across the room and fished his walkie-talkie from his mess of a desk. Sergio plopped down on his bed as he adjusted the frequency.

“Palermo? _Palermo?_ This is El Professor, over.”

There was static on the line, before a muffled response, “Hey, _hermanito_. What’s going on?”

“You’re supposed to say ‘over,’ remember? Over.”

Martin laughed. “I’m sorry, Professor. What’s up?” He paused before adding, “Over.”

Sergio lowered his voice, “This Ariadna girl. Who is she? Over.”

There was silence on the other end of the line. Sergio thought there was something wrong with the walkie-talkies when Martin responded, “Just some girl.” Sergio could sense the edge on his voice.

“_Oh_.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

“Are you still coming over this Saturday? Because we already watched Ocean’s 11 and I’m kind of getting tired of it. _Over_.”

“I don’t know, _querido_,” Martin said. “I have something to do this Saturday. Over.”

“Huh? Like what?”

“Er, you know… we got this project with the Robotics Club, and I have to… um, shop for pieces… or something.” Sergio was twelve, and most would say is young enough to be fooled, but Martin was such a bad liar that even a toddler could recognize it.

“Okay,” Sergio sighed. “What’s going on between you and my brother?”

On the line, Martin sighed. Sergio could almost imagine the guy pacing around his room while talking in a walkie-talkie with a child. “We… had a bit of a row.”

Sergio furrowed his brows. “Is it about his new girlfriend?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

“Well, then fix it.”

“_What?!”_ Martin’s voice was irritated, and almost even offended. “Why do _I_ have to fix it?”

“Because I know my brother, and he can be an idiot when it comes to his own feelings.”

Martin huffed in frustration. “Yeah, he _is_ an idiot with his feelings.” Sergio was about to respond when Martin cut him off, “You know what? Why don’t _you_ be the one to knock some sense into that pretty head of his, because he certainly won’t listen to _me!_ Over and out!”

And with that, the call was finished, and Sergio could hear nothing more than static from the walkie-talkie and moaning from the opposite room. Frustrated and deeply annoyed, he turned on his TV and watched movies at full volume, waiting for Andres’ new girlfriend to get the hell out of their house.

+

It was already one in the evening when Andres got home from driving Ariadna to her house. To his surprise, when he turned the knob, Sergio was sitting on the living room sofa, dressed in his blue striped pajamas.

Andres scrunched his brows and opened the lights. “What are you still doing up, _hermanito?”_

“We need to talk,” Sergio said as Andres sat beside him.

“Hm? You should go to bed. Papa will be home soon…”

Sergio’s stoic expression didn’t waver, and Andres was starting to get curious. The bigger boy asked, “Okay. What’s going on?”

Sergio didn’t pull back any punches. “What did you say to Martin that he didn’t want to come over on Saturday?”

Andres sighed, remembering his and Martin’s fight in the afternoon. “Sergio, _really_, you should go to bed–“

“Andres, _you hurt him,_” Sergio said, and that was enough for him to stop talking. Sergio must’ve noticed the pained look on Andres’ face, so he added, “What the hell did you say to him?”

Andres sighed, combing his hair with his fingers. “I… may have told him to fuck off. _And_ that he wasn’t capable of love –“

“Andres –“

“And that he was nothing without me.”

“_Andres!”_

“_What?”_

“It’s worse than I thought!” Sergio bolted up from his seat and began pacing the small space around the coffee table. “I can’t believe you’d say that to him.”

“It’s not all my fault, believe me,” Andres scoffed. “Friends are supposed to _support each other_. They’re supposed to have each other’s backs. And he did _nothing_ of that sort when telling me that Ariadna didn’t love me!”

“_Ay, dios mio!_ _Idiotas_. You’re both idiots!”

Andres pulled a face, a face of someone whose little brother just called him an idiot. “Excuse me?”

“You should apologize to Martin. _ASAP_.” And before Andres could even respond, Sergio stormed off from the living room and slammed the door to his room loudly.

Andres could only sit there, dumbfounded and pondering, guilty at being the cause of Martin’s hurt. He finally managed to move, his feet taking him outside their house. When Andres looked up and watched the starry night, Martin was a world away, looking at the same sky, singing soft lullabies.

**v.**

It’s been a week since his brother called him an idiot, and yet Andres hadn’t budged yet. He knew, deep down, that he should’ve apologized, but sometimes his ego got the best of him. And besides, if he were to say sorry, he wanted to do it in the best possible way he can.

There’s also this issue of a play coming on Thursday, and Andres was too caught up in memorizing his lines to do anything else. To be honest, he missed having Martin help his lines with him, the blue-eyed boy often playing his love interest. Alas, because of his stupid mouth, they haven’t talked for a week, and Andres was getting extra antsy about the play.

He shouldn’t be thinking of Martin at opening night, but all he could really focus on are big ocean eyes and messy brown hair and a worn leather jacket.

It didn’t help that when he pulled open the curtains, he found Martin sitting on one of the seats among the crowd, his long legs propped up on the chair in front of him. Upon further inspection, Andres found a big familiar guy on the seat beside him, and on the other, a pretty girl wearing a fur scarf. He didn’t know the girl, but he knew the guy. _It was Martin’s ex-boyfriend_.

“Andres!” an arm pulled him out of his trance. Silene gave him a one-over. “What the hell are you doing? It’s five minutes until we go on.”

Andres merely shook his arm free and stormed off into where he was supposed to be, a shocked Silene Oliveira watching him walk away.

_I couldn’t believe it. He brought his ex-boyfriend to _my_ play! This is just ridiculous. _

Despite how much he wanted to go to the crowd, he couldn’t let himself be overtaken by his own emotions. Andres managed to calm himself down in three breaths, just in time for the play to start.

Everything went smoothly. Andres was good at his craft; he knew it, and everyone did as well. He tried his best to avoid looking out into Martin, mostly setting his eyes on his father and brother on the third row at the right. Andres delivered his lines perfectly, hitting every single emotion and intonation with ease. Performing was his passion, and it took a dramatic son of a bitch (e.g. Andres de Fonollosa) to master it.

When it got near the end, Andres’ character had to do a monologue. Almost out of breath but still holding his own, he stepped into the middle of the white spotlight, and stared deeply into the crowd.

“I never knew love before, and I admit, my stupidity got the best of me,” he said, the dramatics clear in his voice. “But oh, how beautiful it is to love… and be loved in return. It is a wonder that only a few men can truly feel, and I – I am one of the lucky ones.” Andres’ eyes drifted among the crowd, landing on Martin, who was staring right back at him. He paused, something painful stinging the back of his throat. He continued, not breaking the eye contact,

“I have wronged and sinned and cheated, but I am one of the lucky ones. Because despite all that, my love still loves me,” Andres said. He smiled – a genuine one, not made for show, but for Martin and Martin _only_. “If only you could forgive me, then can I show you how deeply I can love you, and how much of myself I could give you.”

Martin had his curled hand over his mouth, but behind that, he was smiling. And that smile was enough for Andres to feel better. Much better.

When the show ended and the curtains rolled back, the backstage was full of cheer and congratulations. Many had gone to Andres to compliment him on his performance and improvisations in the end, and he’d accepted the praise gratefully. As he was talking to his theatre friends, someone grabbed his arm and turned him around. And alas, it was the person whose opinion meant the most to him.

“Hey,” Andres said.

Martin was smiling. “Hey.”

“What did you think about the –“

He didn’t have time to finish his sentence, because Martin had already grabbed his face and pressed his lips against his. Andres didn’t even have to think about his next move, his body already responding as he held Martin’s waist and deepened the kiss. When they broke apart, Martin’s hands were still cupping his cheeks. He looked so beautiful up close.

“I’m sorry for what I said,” Andres whispered. “I never meant it.”

Martin grinned, nodding. “Apology accepted.” He pressed a tender kiss on Andres’ cheek before enveloping him in a tight embrace. Andres pulled him closer, burying his face on the boy’s neck. He’d never felt that free before in his life, and he never wanted the feeling to stop.

In that moment, nothing else mattered anymore. All Andres knew was that he’d sacrifice anything – absolutely _anything_ – if it meant Martin would hold him like that, and never ever let go.


End file.
